


True Detective Drabbles Collection

by Anna_Hopkins



Category: True Detective
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Season/Series 01, bottom!Marty, true detective season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins
Summary: Collection of all my True Detective (season 1) drabbles and ficlets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I really like this vernacular, and hope to perfect it over time. It's rather fun.)

There was a chip in the driver's side mirror that Marty had discovered a week into driving the car. For a few months he kept meaning to get it fixed. Then for a while he just didn't care. When he was about to come full circle about it, Rust showed up. That was when Marty realized he could see the passenger's seat out the corner of his eye 'thout being noticed, with that mis-aligned bit there. Looking back on it, would've been just as easy to look directly at the man, but that would also have been more difficult, wouldn't it...

So for a while Marty could watch Rust in silence out the corner of his eye, and in the chipped mirror fragment that man looked unreal, hazy, indifferent. If he'd mentioned it aloud, he was sure Rust would say the mirror reflected his soul.

He liked to watch Rust smoke. 'Course, he'd never say so. First anyone would think, he was watching those lips suck and puff. No, Marty told himself he was watching the whole face. The bliss in his eyes, or the flush on his cheekbones.

Maybe the whole of it was lewd, too. He kept watching.

~

The day of the four-one-nine, when Rust spoke for the first time longer'n a sentence, Marty told him to shut up. What it was, was, he couldn't hear the man quite right. He was getting distracted thinking of Rust's same voice telling him to get on his knees.

The silence was easier.

~

He was plenty mad when Maggie told him Rust had fucked her. And he would've stayed mad if she hadn't gone on to say how rough and hot and hard he'd done it, hadn't made his gut twist with need. Couldn't get proper pissed when he could feel the blood going south.

The next day, Rust spared no effort in throwing him flat on the ground. Marty didn't have the fight in him after that. He wanted Rust to take it further. But he'd fucked up the opportunity to admit it.

And then seven years went by.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Wow, I got a great response for this so far! Going to continue it with some more of my favourite drabbles -- more on Sunday evening.)

One day they were the only car on the highway, and Marty let his eyes stray till Rust was in the corner of his eye, and the radio stopped playing in the middle of a song. Rust was staring out the window over the wetlands. Marty didn't miss his flinch when the music stopped.

-

Rust's eyes were on him when they got to that bunny ranch in the woods. It wasn't like Marty could _help_ his staring, they _wanted_ him to look, after all.

Still, he tried not to look too much. Here he was with a plausible excuse to be staring at Rust instead. So he let his eyes wander over that hard body, let Rust walk ahead of him a bit, and committed as much of that view to memory as he could 'fore they got to the main trailer, meet the madam. He thought about jacking off to it later, and ' _course_ that got him half-hard, like a goddamn schoolboy.

Rust didn't say anything 'bout the flush on Marty's cheeks till they got back in the car. "Y'know, Marty," he drawled, "most the girls these places end up distributing. Sellin' uppers, is the thing lately. Wrecks 'em, but they say 's better'n selling their bodies."

If Rust were selling _his_ body, Marty supposed he'd spend his whole damn savings account. Not that it was relevant. But then, neither was most of the shit Rust said.

-

When he'd had a few at the bar, Marty had to wonder -- Rust being the observant bastard he was, there was _no way_ he didn't notice Marty's interest in him. No way in hell. So was he playing coy or what? Waitin' for him t'say it to his face? Eh? Well, fuck _him_. He'd call and say it right now...

Somehow when he remembered it the next day, Marty was thankful he was too drunk to get the phone to work.

A while after that he tried dialing the number Rust gave him in the middle of the night, just to see if the man would pick up, and found the number had been disconnected. (Funny. When he tried him in the morning, it worked just fine.)

Strange bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

Marty liked to change the caller-ID for Rust's phone every couple of days, depending on his mood. He remembered one night before the divorce when Maggie asked him why someone named "Sugar Baby" had called him three times in the past hour.

Suddenly he wondered how many of his pet names for Rust sounded like call girls. _Sugar Baby_. _The Cowgirl. Sweet Cheeks._

Shit.

~

At the height of the investigation they'd pulled over to a truck stop along the I-10 for a smoke break. Rust smoked, and Marty went in, bought more of the cigs Rust liked. He'd always spent more of his pocket money on Rust than on himself, back then.

While he waited for the clerk to ring him up, he stared at Rust through the dusty windows of the truck stop. Cashier musta caught him staring too long, 'cause he murmured, "got the skinny tall fuck boys out back, y'want one, 'ight." Marty didn't say anything back, but later, he'd thought about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Putting together two versions of this drabble that I wrote separately)
> 
> The tension will go somewhere, I promise ♥

One day on the back roads Marty let Rust drive for a bit so he could sleep. Felt like shit that morning, he'd said.

He wondered if Rust could tell he was half-hard from watching the man's silhouette in the mirror, in the sharp contrast of day. Probably could, he 'sposed, just from how Rust were, and how Marty walked stiffly from one side of the car to the other. He reclined the seat way back and looked out the window at the flat lands, trying to get his dick to soften up and his mind out the gutter where it'd been several hours now.

As his eyelids fluttered closed, Marty vaguely wondered if Rust would notice the mirror trick, now he was driving.

~

When he woke up, it was to Rust pulling over for a smoke break, somewhere 'least an hour later. He thought Rust might have been staring at him from the roadside, but he was only awake till the third or fourth of Rust's cigarettes, not too long, 'fore he was right out again.

He dreamed of Rust pinning him against something -- anything, really -- and grinding hard against him, murmuring suggestions in his ear, as to what might happen next.

Then Rust was shaking him awake, all a-sudden like. "Marty," he said, and whatever else came after that was replaced in his ears with words from the dream, so Marty held up a hand and rubbed his eyes and asked him to repeat that, please. (Shit. How often did he say "please" for anything?)

"I said, I'm filling the gas tank, you want anything to drink, best get it now. You all right, Marty? Been looking awful since the morning. Never asked me to drive for you before."

"Yeah, well," Marty scrambled for an answer that wasn't a complete lie, Rust could tell straight out if he lied, "been a bit difficult at the house this week. I'm sure you'll say it's none o' your damn business, but the long and short of it is, I ain't seen a decent night's sleep since Tuesday e'ening." (It was Friday, now.)

See, he woulda expected something like _you're right, it ain't my damn business_ or a dry jab at his marital issues in that sweet Texas drawl, but Rust didn't say anything of the sort (to Marty's mixed relief and dismay). 'Stead, he leaned over to Marty and said, conspiratorially (weren't that a ten-dollar-word for the ages), " 'f you need a hooker, Marty, I can forget where you went for a few hours. Can get some proper rest, if you need it."

And damned if he didn't need _something_ , but the touch he were after weren't no woman's touch, understand. Still, no telling when Rust would be so generous again. Marty wondered if he might have been high or something, could never tell with Rust, not that he'd ask. So he muttered, "yeah," and dragged himself out the passenger side door to go round back o' the truck stop and look for a little something to calm his nerves.

Damned if Rust couldn't see the future. He knocked out for the rest of the day after that.

And sure as clockwork he dreamed of Rust pinning him against a wall outside the truck stop and leaving bite marks on the side of his neck, and he woke up in a cold sweat with a raging hardon that wouldn't go down for an hour -- in the middle of some motel bed, alone again, wishing he had the guts to just ask for it already.


	5. Chapter 5

Maggie had been rather pleasantly surprised when Marty had come home late that night; he'd brought her flowers, and hugged her sweetly in the kitchen where she'd been waiting for him. (Now he thought about it, he hadn't been drunk that night either, mighta helped.) They'd gone to bed 'thout doin' anything, but Marty had cuddled with her for a bit 'fore she fell asleep. With his left arm pinned down, Marty lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling for a while, since he'd been sleeping the afternoon and wasn't tired yet. He had some things to think about this evening.  
  
Earlier, in the motel room, he'd finally given in to a par-ticular desire of his, and beaten off to the collection of pictures he'd had of Rust on his phone. They were all captioned with dates and times like it were _important for work_ , see, but he'd made half of the captions up, it was really just his excuse to stare at the man. Marty could own up to it now, at least to himself.  
  
He'd spent hours touching himself to the photos, till his balls ran dry, and then taken a shower and drank three cold bottles of water 'fore heading out to the grocery store to get Maggie something, thank her for her patience. He was halfway out the door when he remembered he didn't have his truck at the motel.  
  
So he'd called Rust.  
  
Then he got to sit in Rust's truck and watch the stars go by, and listened to the soft tune of whatever was playing in the radio, and didn't say anything for a while. He took the opportunity to watch Rust driving, since he'd slept through it earlier; the man was all lean arms and sharp lines, relaxed in the driver's seat. Marty watched him for a long while, not realizing he was being watched back, till they got to the store and parked the truck way out in the lot, under a tree, out of the view of the streetlamp.  
  
Marty unbuckled his seatbelt, and looked over, was about to ask if Rust wanted anything from the store. That was when Rust leaned over and kissed him soft on the mouth, like he'd been waiting a while to do it. There was no hesitation in it; Marty had been right, Rust just _knew_.  
  
He opened his mouth more, let Rust's tongue spread the faint taste of ash on his tongue. It didn't bother Marty like it would have if someone else had put that flavor there. Marty moaned a little when their tongues met, felt Rust's hand steady his face, pull them closer.  
  
Marty shuddered and gasped as Rust's hand caressed the back of his neck. He could feel himself getting hard from it, like clockwork. A gentle hold on his wrist brought Marty's hand to Rust's zipper -- he felt Rust's hot erection pressed tight against those jeans. " _Oh, please_ ," Marty breathed, he'd never wanted anything so badly.

Rust met his eyes then; Marty could see the fire of want in them, in the faint threads of light from lampposts far away. He scanned the parking lot, and then murmured in Marty's ear, "Want you against the hood." Oh, yes, please -- they were apart for just a minute getting out of the truck, and from there it was as if Rust had taken cue from his hottest fantasies. Hands unbuttoning Marty's shirt while Rust tasted his tongue, ground against him through one too many layers of clothing.

-

Looking back on it, he was surprised they didn't get caught. Two men fucking in a parking lot in _this_ part of the country? They'd probably abeen fired.

Marty fell asleep at some point, and learned his dreams didn't measure up to the real thing. Like a dog that's tasted blood, he'd crave it, rest of his life.

 _Shit_.


End file.
